If Tomorrow Never Comes
by Zet Sway
Summary: She feels incredible, the lights are so bright, and the sound of his breathing - ever little gasp and moan resounds in her ears; the club music seems to disappear entirely. All that matters is this drell pressed against her, his hands on her and god she has got to get him out of that jacket. Thane/FShep. AU. Oneshot.


One day I was listening to a song on my way to the dentist. And then the fanfiction fairy whisked me away. I'm not sorry.

This is AU for a lot of reasons. AU is my excuse to write the funny things that came to my mind. Thane would obviously never grope a lady in public, and the Normandy would never be docked at the Citadel the night before the fight to retake Earth (for reasons I won't spoil).

This is AU because I am implying that Thane and Shep have never met, never worked together or corresponded. His Kepral's is still present but not advanced so far. And obviously Thane isn't a one night stand kind of guy.

If my AU isn't your thing, that's fine. Your respect is appreciated. I'm not attempting to rewrite or change anything, I just had some inspiration and I ran with it.

Mass Effect and all associated characters belong to Bioware and I guess EA Games. I make no money from this fanfiction.

* * *

The Normandy docks at the Citadel. If Anderson or Hackett knew what she was doing, they'd be enraged. But they don't know, they won't know, and in a day or so it won't even matter.

Her crew deserves this.

_One last hoorah, _she'd said, standing before her crew, affording them a chance to have one last night of fun, one last night to say goodbye before they faced the ultimate uncertainty. It'll be hard work, trying to scour the feeling of impending doom from their minds. But that only makes them want to try harder.

Despite motivating her crew, it's one of those nights where she doesn't quite know what to do with herself, doesn't quite want to even leave her cabin, but Garrus and the boys convince her off the ship and out to some club on the Citadel called Purgatory.

She's never been one for dancing but the more she drinks the more the music wants to move her. Garrus is making some kind of joke about 'the Commander getting some tonight' but she doesn't hear him. Something catches her eye.

Away from Purgatory's flashing dance floor lights sits a man, a species she barely recognizes - drell are so rarely seen off Kahje. He's the first thing she's seen all night that rips her thoughts away from Earth, away from the reapers. It seems drell are more beautiful than she remembers.

On a normal day she would gaze at an attractive stranger with longing, regret that she was too shy, too busy, too 'off-limits' as the legendary Commander Shepard to actually make a move. But tonight is different. The music echoes in her brain, her skin seems more comfortable than normal and with the alcohol thundering in her system she feels like she can damn well do whatever she pleases.

So she does. Comes up behind him and puts one hand over his and leans over his shoulder.

"Come share a dance with me," she croons. To her surprise, he smiles.

He stands and takes her hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asks, his voice a baritone rumble that makes her bite her lip in anticipation.

"We might not get tomorrow."

* * *

The dance floor is filled with the most oblivious people on the Citadel, especially during these hard times. Like Joker had told her, _"This isn't happy dancing, this is 'forget your problems' dancing."_ And 'forget her problems' is exactly what she intends to do. With the music thumping in her veins, she loses herself, dancing far more lewdly than she would ever allow herself if not for the alcohol clouding her senses. Bit by tiny bit she leads him to a dark corner, her intentions becoming less innocent by the second because the more she looks at him, grinds on him, the more she wants him. And it's been so _damn _long, she deserves this, right?

Her back hits the wall and she grabs the collar of his jacket, pulling him between her thighs and _grinds _on him. She doesn't know what kind of equipment he's packing but damn does she want him, is determined to have him, hands sliding down his arms, across his torso, dancing over the tantalizingly exposed scales on his chest.

_'Siha' _he whispers in her ear, and she has no idea what a Siha is or what it means, but she's content to let him call her that as long as he's holding her like this; hands on her hips, lips on her ear, her neck, grinding on her with every pulse of the music. She draws him up for a kiss, her first taste of this exotic stranger from another world, lips that are full and smooth caressing hers and oh god the way he _tastes_. It's not anything she recognizes or anything she can describe, it just _is_. Something undoubtedly unique to only him, foreign and intoxicating all in one and she sets her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, steal it from him so she can taste him whenever she pleases.

He's stealing her all the same, hands slowly creeping up from her hips, sliding up her sides and making her shiver at the pressure of his palms. Her breath quickens, skin ablaze in anticipation because _he wants what she wants_. She feels the heat building now, a slow burn between her thighs at the thought of him touching her – she arches into him to urge him on, rolling her body against him. A steady vibration rolls through her, originating from his lips, his throat, a sound she can't hear but can only feel, and then his hands are tracing the curve of her breasts, molding them in his palms and she _moans_, the sound lost to the music, every sensation accumulating between her legs and good lord she doesn't just _deserve_ this, she _needs _this.

It's like he's given her the green light, and just like that her senses are on fire, blood pumping in her veins like the bass pumping in her ears, beneath her feet, through the wall against her back. She lifts a leg to wrap around him, to shorten the gap between them until nothing is left but the heat burning at her core and the hardness pushing against his pants. She hears him this time, a quiet gasp passing his lips as she grinds on him and his hips snap into hers.

Firm lips crash against hers, teeth nipping at her bottom lip. She feels incredible, the lights are so bright, and the sound of his breathing - ever little gasp and moan resounds in her ears; the club music seems to disappear entirely. He growls, tugging the front of her dress down and she doesn't even care if anyone sees. Her crew could be somewhere in this club, somewhere ordering drinks and maybe dancing with strangers, but she's damn well forgotten about them. All that matters is this drell pressed against her, his hands on her breasts and _god damn _she has got to get him out of that jacket.

It seems simple enough, small clasps in the center of each strap coming undone one by one. His hands leave her for just a moment to shrug out of the coat and immediately she wishes they were somewhere better lit. She wants to see him, see how the tone of his scales changes on its way down his body and the dark stripes along the way. He's marvelously well-toned, she can tell that much by the feel of him beneath her exploring fingers, his scales cool and firm, but it's too damn dark to appreciate him the way she wants to.

_Do you have a room? _She whispers to him, words punctuated by another gasp just as his hand is creeping up her skirt, feeling her through her thin panties.

Smiling against her neck, he nods, picks up his jacket and takes her hand. The sea of bodies around them keeps on dancing as if they were never there.

The silence outside the club is deafening, but it's not until now that she realizes just how tender he is with her. Away from the pounding music and swaying bodies, everything seems to slow down. Like the tantalizing slowness he uses to drag the zipper of her dress down her back, to push it off her shoulders and off her body completely. And then they're skin to scale, hands roaming, touching, exploring one another with in the whispering quiet of his apartment.

He's lovely, his scales, softer than she expected, are a thousand different shades of green reflecting in the artificial moonlight shining through the window. Wide black stripes unfurl around his arms, down his back, his chest, and further still; soft red flesh, like the delicate folds at his throat arcs over his hips and down the defined lines of muscle at his thighs, fading into a deep magenta at the familiar form of his unsheathed erection. She sighs into his neck with a smile, firm hands sliding down her belly, fingers tracing her slit and she bites her bottom lip when he soothes his thumb over her clit and slides his joined fingers inside.

Whoever he is, this stranger, he's entirely too good at what he does for this to be his first time with a human. For a moment she feels guilty she doesn't know his body the way he seems to know hers, but the groan he produces when she wraps her hand around his shaft tells her she probably has the right idea. But he's selfless, hungry, sucking her lower lip between his teeth and then he _curls _his fingers at just the right spot and the galaxy explodes behind her closed eyes. The more her hand loses its rhythm the more he seems to find his, and in moments she's a wailing, shuddering mess as she climaxes at his mercy.

Ragged breaths echo in the sparse bedroom. He kisses her tenderly as he lowers her back onto the pillows, fingers carding through her deep red hair, cradling her head while he settles between her thighs. She knows what's coming, skin tingling with anticipation, pulling him closer and deepening their kiss. And it's wonderful - his deep sigh when he enters her, her satisfied moan, every nerve on fire, hypersensitive; every sensation is the apex of incredible, indescribable pleasure, right down to the sting of his alien skin against her most sensitive places.

Through the haze of pleasure, the things his saliva is doing to her mind, she whimpers and moans, wanting with every breath to call his name, and she can't, because she never asked, he never told her, even as he croons _Siha _in her ear, she has nothing to call him. So she hangs on, nails digging into his back as she rocks her hips into his, quivering with every wave of blinding sensation.

She's always been a vocal lover, and tonight is no different. In the privacy of his apartment there is no need to silence herself. She cries out with each thrust, scraping desperately at him for a second orgasm that he is all too happy to provide. Thumbs flick across her breasts as he changes his angle just so and she comes again, and this time he isn't far behind. He moans, a deep and guttural noise that vibrates through his chest and into her quivering body. Their shared orgasm rocks him to his very core, shocks him thoroughly until his shuddering form lowers gently onto her and she holds him, hands smoothing over his back as he sighs, catching his breath. Slowly, he withdraws and settles beside her, draping a hand across her stomach. She allows herself this one moment, closes her eyes and breathes deep. It feels so good to be held by another. But now isn't the time. With regret, she pulls away from him, stands and begins to dress herself.

"Must you go so soon?" He says softly, rising from the bed, sheet draped around his hips.

She doesn't want to go. It would be so easy, to curl up in the arms of this stranger and sleep the days away. Here, on the Citadel at this time of night it's almost as if the galaxy is perfectly fine. Earth, Palaven, Thessia, all safe. But she can't, and she wishes there were an easier way to tell him. So she says the one thing she feels more than any other.

"I'm sorry."

Finally dressed, she walks to the window and stares out at the presidium, bathed in simulated starlight. He waits for her, to see her to the door like the gentleman he is. She is silent for several minutes. He watches her carefully. Something about her is different now; she could be sobering, guilty, or even ashamed. But her next words shock him like cold water.

"My name… is Sara Shepard. In a few hours, I'm leaving the Citadel to destroy the reapers and take back Earth."

He's speechless. She must be lying. Commander Shepard just shared his bed?

"There's a good chance I won't make it. There's a good chance a lot of us won't make it. I just…" he hears her sigh, choosing her next words carefully before she turns to him. "Thank you. I hope you don't feel like I've used you. I just really needed that… last taste of life before I go. So… thanks." She embraces him, pressing her head into his chest and he can tell by the crack in her voice that she's fighting back tears. No, she isn't lying. The weight on this woman's shoulders is more than anyone should ever have to carry. He doesn't know what to say.

"You never told me your name," she whispers.

"I didn't think you wanted to know."

"I do."

"Thane Krios. And I… needed this too. You could say that this was… fulfilling for both of us." He decides she'll be better off not knowing about his Kepral's. But he's silently grateful that he means something to her, grateful he wasn't just some floozy, that he was able to give her something she needed in her time of need.

"I'll be thinking about you out there, Thane Krios. Take care of yourself. And thanks," she says with a wistful smile. She leaves his apartment.

Neither of them will sleep tonight.

* * *

Thank you for reading! I love you all. I archive all my reviews in preparation for the day my account is inevitably banned for the number of times I have violated the rules and guidelines. Thank you again for taking the time to read my work. Even if you didn't like it, I still happy.

All of my work is also posted on DeviantArt under the name My17thRedEyE, soon to be changed to ZetSway or Zet-Sway.


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